


a nightly ornament

by thefudge



Category: Glass (2019), Split (2016)
Genre: F/M, Scars, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, Unresolved Sexual Tension, soundtrack: chase atlantic - okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: “Do you want to hurt me, Dennis?”





	a nightly ornament

**Author's Note:**

> i was craving some creepy/tender dennis & casey and some of you have been messaging me about writing more, so here you go! hope you enjoy! (oh you should def listen to "okay" by chase atlantic while you read)

People have often told her she’s very intuitive. She always knows just what to say, always hits the mark without even knowing the person in front of her. It’s some kind of sixth sense, being able to translate someone’s ache.

When the stern man with the glasses and the tightly-buttoned shirt stares down at her as she’s splayed out on the stage floor, naked breasts covered in glitter, body writhing like a snake, she asks what all the other girls ask their regular customers.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She trips a little on the ‘sweetheart’. The script doesn’t always come easy.

His gaze is laser sharp, almost as if were scanning her insides for some kind of incurable disease. She has never been looked at this way. It’s clinical and dirty at the same time.

“Dennis.” His voice is harsh and precise. A knife against a whetstone.

Casey nods and swallows. The words spill out of mouth, off-script, a spurt of intuition.

“Do you want to hurt me, Dennis?”

It’s such a simple thing to ask, almost cinematic.

His face doesn’t transform. He is still glaring at her.

But something shines in those eyes. A hungry tremor of light. Like a whip of lightning.

_How do you know?_

Casey nods like she understands. “Men hate strippers, deep down.”

Dennis raises an eyebrow. His composure is by design, she feels. It’s not real.

“Why’s that?”

Casey keeps writhing, head upside down, hair almost falling off the stage and onto his table. When the song changes she’s supposed to get up and return to the pole.

Other girls are getting banknotes shoved between their teeth, but Dennis hasn’t even touched his wallet. She doesn’t mind.

“Cuz we put out. We give you what you want. It makes you sick, I think,” she replies as she gropes herself, palms cupping breasts, fingers slipping down her midriff to her bellybutton. One of the girls taught her how to touch herself in an anonymous way. She doesn’t even have to think about it anymore. Sometimes she cries about it. Other times she doesn’t.

“I’m not sick,” Dennis replies coolly, but there’s an edge to his voice, like a possible query. _I’m_ _not_ _sick?_

“Not sick of me?” she teases, cheek muscles stretching uncomfortably as she smiles.

When her fingers deftly circumvent the little jagged cuts, the marks invisible under the layers of concealer and glitter, his jaw clenches.

“Who gave you those scars?” he asks quietly.

In the first moment she thinks, _maybe he does have x-ray vision._

She panics briefly, wondering how many other people have noticed them. No one’s asked before. It’s always been a point of pride, to dance with them out in the open without actually revealing them.

His hand reaches forward and gathers a few strands of her hair. He examines the locks, rubbing thumb and forefinger, feeling the texture.

He yanks. Gently. Not enough to raise alarms.

Casey opens her mouth.

He yanks again.

Her scalp tingles. He’s pulling her closer. She wonders what will happen when he grabs the rest of her.

“Who did it?” he asks again. There’s bottled menace in his voice.

She hears the song ending in the background.

 _No one_ , she wants to say.

“I did it.”

“Why?”

She stares at him upside down. “I - I didn’t want to own my body anymore.”

“You wanted out of it,” he finishes for her.

“I - I guess.”

There’s no guessing with him. He cocks his head to the side. She doesn’t know how she knows this, but he’s thinking, _I can get you out of it. I can get you out of your body._

Casey exhales.

She needs to get away.

She covers her breasts and rolls away from him.

He releases her hair.

Casey finds comfort in the safety of the pole. She clings to it, glad of the distance.

She contorts her body, pressing her nakedness against cold metal, feeling cleansed. Her scars chafe and itch. She climbs up, swinging her legs delicately in the air like some kind of woodland fairy. She lets her head fall back, feels the blood rushing there. She keeps herself suspended. She’s a nightly ornament. She belongs on a Christmas tree.

Dennis leans forward, fingers clasped tightly.

He looks like a teacher during office hours. He’s evaluating her.

He watches the faint flicker of a pulse at her throat.

His eyes shift to her diaphragm where every intake of air seems to raise the scars to the surface.

Casey rights herself, spine going rigid. She glides down carefully, her back to him.

She closes her eyes.

She has this eerie vision of the strange man unfolding like a painted fan, growing larger, reaching out with his claws to tear off her skin and release her.

She pictures butterflies flying out of her rib cage. 

She almost hears it - a beastly growl, an animal howling at the moon.

But when she turns around, he’s laughing.

Not just laughing. _Giggling_.

He’s grinning too. His eyes are wide and innocent. He points at her and glances around in awe.

She frowns. He looks like a little kid at the fair.

She doesn’t get it.

“Hey, pretty lady!” he yells at her. His voice is several octaves higher, almost cartoonish. She’s spooked.

“Yeah, you,” he points at her. “You should _ruuuun_. Dennis is definitely gonna come after you. He’s gonna come and get you!”

And he dives quickly under the table with another giggle.

Casey shudders.

She leans against the pole.

There’s something so ridiculous about the whole thing, it scares her shitless.

Security eventually escorts him out.

He’s still giggling.

  


 

Casey wipes the glitter from her body. Her eyes water.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror.

“Do you wanna hurt me?” she asks in the empty dressing room.

 _No,_ Dennis whispers in her mind. _That’s the least of what I’ll do to you._

Casey wipes the diamond tear dangling from her eyelashes and brings the finger to her lips.

On the other side of town, Dennis feels the taste of ocean salt in his mouth.


End file.
